"Grooms is always an impatient lot." Agnes elbowed ler way to the side of the bed. "As yer old nurse, 'tis my right to say good night to the maid I helped raise. On the norrow, I'll greet the woman who rises from this bed."

"Hurry," Joanna said. "They're almost here."

Masculine voices and roars of mirth could be heard echoing down the corridor. The serving girls quickly poured svine into two goblets that stood on a table near the fire. Eunice dabbed a tear from her eye and smiled benignly.

Everyone's attention was on the door, waiting for it to Dpen. Agnes leaned over the bed.

"Here, now, take this, m'lady." She pressed a small object into Clare's hand.

With a sense of resignation, Clare glanced down at yet another small vial. "Thank you, Agnes. You cannot know how much your thoughtfulness means to me."

"Hush." Agnes cast a quick look about to make certain no one had overheard. "Be sure to dab a few drops on the sheets ere morning and all will be well."

"But, Agnes?"

" Tis just a useful precaution." Agnes fussed with the bedding. "When you've lived as long as I have, ye learn it pays to help nature along now and again. Especially when a man's honor is involved."

The door crashed open before Clare could argue.

Ulrich and the other men thrust Gareth into the chamber. The serving maids shrieked.

"Here's your new lord, my lady." Ulrich swept a deep, mocking bow toward Clare. When he raised his head, he wore a distinctly lecherous grin. "He has come here tonight to practice with his sword. I trust you'll see to it that he gets a good deal of exercise with it. We would not want the Hellhound of Wyckmere to grow soft."

The men succumbed once more to uproarious laughter. Joanna and the other women shooed them back out of the chamber.

It took a minute or two to clear the room, but at last the door was firmly closed.

Clare and Gareth were alone at last.

Clare held the white linen sheets very tightly to her breast as she met Gareth's eyes.

He looked at her as she lay back against the scented linen pillows. The air of possessiveness in his eyes stole Clare's voice.

Gareth finally broke the short, taut silence. He glanced around the chamber with an inquiring expression. "My sword?"

"Over there." Clare moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "On the window seat."

"Ah, yes. Safe and sound." Gareth did not go to the window seat to collect his blade.

Instead, he crossed the chamber to where a small table stood in front of the fire. He picked up the goblets full of wine and turned toward the bed.

Clare realized that she was clutching the sheets with such force that her knuckles were white. She made herself unclench her fingers one by one and then searched frantically for something appropriately casual to say.

This was not a real wedding night, after all.

"Well, I'm certainly glad that business is over and done." Clare shoved aside the bedding and fairly leaped out of the massive, four-posted bed.

Gareth watched impassively as she grabbed a chamber robe and flung it quickly around her shoulders. Holding the garment closed at her throat with one hand, she summoned up what she hoped was a comradely smile. "I suppose weddings are always troublesome affairs, are they not, my lord?"

"I wouldn't know." Gareth watched her intently as he offered her one of the goblets. "I have never been married before."

Clare blushed. "No, of course not. I did not mean to imply that you had." She snatched the wine from his hand and took a healthy swallow. She'd had almost nothing to eat or drink all day. For some reason she'd been too tense to partake of the feast. "I vow, I do not understand why I am feeling so odd tonight. I wonder if I am ill."

"Mayhap you are feeling some of the same things that I am feeling tonight." Gareth took a sip of his own wine.

Then he removed Clare's goblet from her fingers. He set both small vessels down on the table.

"My lord?" Clare realized that her voice had risen to a small squeak.

"Are you feeling unsettled, also?"

"Aye."

"Mayhap we both could use a draught of camomile and mint tea," she suggested helpfully. "Tis excellent for an uneasy stomach. I shall summon one of the servants."

"Nay, I know of a far better cure."

Gareth pulled her gently but relentlessly into his arms. When she stood shivering against him, still clutching the chamber robe as if it were a talisman, he claimed her mouth with his own.

8

Gareth felt Clare's undisguised shiver of surprise; a flash of confusion washed through her, causing her to tremble in his arms. He kept his mouth pressed against hers, willing her to respond the way she had the last time he kissed her.

He knew she wanted him. He had sensed the passion in her that first afternoon. All he had to do was get past the logical defenses she had erected.

Relief soared in him when he heard her tiny, half-strangled gasp of excitement.

She would be a true wife to him. The bastard of Wyckmere had got himself a bride.

And a future.

Her mouth was hesitant at first and then her lips softened deliciously beneath his own. Gareth knew for certain that he had guessed correctly.

He had not misread the feminine curiosity in her eyes, nor had he misjudged the significance of her trembling fingers.

The good fortune that had kept him alive during his years as a hunter of outlaws had followed him into his new life as a farmer of flowers. He had gained far more from this match than he had dared to hope.

Clare made a small sound of anticipation. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders. Gareth groaned. He had been enduring the torments of a half-aroused body all day. Now he was fully erect, eager for what awaited him. The time had come to claim his wife.

Gareth felt Clare shudder and press herself against him. An urge to laugh nearly overwhelmed him. He fought it back. This was not the time to succumb to mirth. Still, he reveled in the moment. It was obvious that all Clare's foolish talk of waiting until their acquaintanceship had deepened into friendship was simply that: foolish.

Clare was as eager to taste the pleasure of the marriage bed as he was.

Gareth was relieved and exultant. Now another battle lay ahead of him.

But he was accustomed to fighting for what he wanted. And he most definitely wanted Clare.

He recognized that Clare's disgust for Nicholas of Seabern was genuine.

He still was not certain what to believe about her past experience of lovemaking. But Clare's sweetly eager mouth told him that whatever had happened between her and Nicholas, it had not given her a distaste for the business.

Mayhap it was Raymond de Coleville who had taught her how much mutual pleasure a man and a woman could find together.

Whichever man had been responsible, Gareth was not particularly grateful to him.

"My lord." Clare's voice was a breathless sigh against Gareth's lips.

She was warm and soft against his chest. Her arms wound slowly around his neck. "No doubt we should not kiss in this manner yet, but I vow, I cannot seem to stop."

Her confession sent Gareth's blood pounding through his veins. The heavy beat was a distant echo of his war-horse's hoofbeats. His whole body reacted violently to the promise of Clare's gentle surrender.

The lady was ready and willing, not an anxious, innocent maid who had to be led slowly into bed.

"Be assured that I have no intention of halting these kisses yet."

Gareth stroked the edge of her mouth with the pads of his thumbs. Her lips trembled and parted. Her cheeks, flushed and glowing, were warm to the touch. Her eyes were fathomless emeralds that held the secrets of a woman's passion waiting to be unleashed.